


In Service

by juanjoltaire



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Domestic Fluff, Food, M/M, Oral Sex, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23821759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juanjoltaire/pseuds/juanjoltaire
Summary: When the power goes out, Grantaire is trapped in an elevator with the most beautiful boy he's ever seen...who wants nothing to do with him.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 320





	In Service

**Author's Note:**

> In 2017, I got stuck in an elevator. It was scary, and not fun, but I walked out of that elevator with this fic in my head. Three years later, I've finally finished writing it down. Hope you enjoy, please comment if you can!

“Damn,” Grantaire said as he gently closed the refrigerator door, and glanced out the window at the darkening sky. It was below freezing, about to snow, and he was in dire need of groceries. The weekly forecast had predicted a blizzard was imminent, but he hadn’t realized until that very moment that the fridge was almost empty. If he got snowed in, he’d have nothing to eat. _Idiot. A chef should know better than to run out of food, especially at a time like this,_ he chided with a shake of his head, raising a pen to the kitchen notepad on the fridge. He scribbled out a list as fast as he could, before ripping it off and stuffing it into the pocket of his heavy coat. Then he wrapped a scarf around his neck, pulled on his hat, retrieved his grocery bags, and headed for the door. 

As he was about to leave, his mottled tabby came scampering out from under the bed in protest, mewling for his attention. “I’m in a hurry, Whiskey,” Grantaire replied, looking down over his shoulder to meet her wide, green eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t be long. I’ll feed you as soon as I get back.” With that he stepped out into the hallway, leaving his feline friend alone in the small studio apartment, and locked the door behind him. 

Pressing the down button across from his door, he stood and waited for the elevator, idly playing with the fraying fringe on his scarf. He heard the cables whirring, sluggishly pulling the elevator car upward, but as it came near it passed his floor, going to the floor directly above where the landlord and his family lived at the top of the building. Grantaire sighed softly to himself. The elevator was notoriously slow, and he didn’t have much time to waste if he wanted to beat the storm. It was going to start snowing any minute now. “C’mon, c’mon,” he mumbled, rocking back on his heels impatiently.

Finally the cables started up again, and soon the bell chimed, the doors parted, and the small elevator arrived, inviting him in. Grantaire took one step forward and started, shocked as he looked up. It wasn’t one of the Thenardiers standing inside, as he had expected. Instead he found himself face to face with the most beautiful stranger he had ever seen, haloed by the single white light shining down from the elevator ceiling. It was as if there were some heavenly apparition, the angel Gabriel himself, appearing right there inside the elevator in a scarlet peacoat, and Grantaire almost forgot where he was going, or what he was doing. The angel stepped aside, making room for him in the narrow space, and Grantaire walked in dazedly, all thoughts of the storm and the grocery store forgotten.

His heart pounding, he forced himself to look at the floor, not wanting to openly stare. _Who is he?_ he thought as the doors closed, and the elevator continued its slow journey down to the lobby. He certainly would have known if he had seen him before, there was no mistaking that face. “New to the building?” he asked before he could stop himself, turning his head to look over at him again.

The boy’s eyes flicked distractedly in his direction, attempting to politely acknowledge him. “No. I don’t live here,” he answered, his gaze returning to the elevator doors in front of them.

_Then what was he doing up there?_ Grantaire wondered. _Visiting the Thenardiers? Interested in renting?_ “S-supposed to storm pretty badly,” he tried again.

“That’s why I’m going home,” the boy replied simply, determinedly staring ahead.

But Grantaire kept his eyes on the boy, unable to help himself. Even beneath the dull elevator light, he was brilliant. His bright golden hair fell in short, soft waves around his cheeks, which were pink as his lips and accentuated by the red of his coat. And then there were his eyes, fierce and so vividly blue. It was as if a Renaissance artist was commissioned to paint in only primary hues, and managed to make this glorious masterpiece before him. How could so much beauty be contained in so small a space?

_Stop staring!_ he scolded himself, but the boy had already noticed, giving Grantaire another unnerved glance.

“I tutor the kid upstairs,” he volunteered resignedly 

“Oh!” Grantaire perked up at the opportunity for conversation. The Thenardiers had five children, but he had a guess which one it could be. “Gavroche?” 

“Yes,” the boy nodded. “I’m in a community service program with my university. Helping troubled kids do better in school, you know, that sort of thing. I’ve recently been assigned to Gavroche.”

Grantaire smiled. “That’s really kind of you, helping him out. I’m sure he could use a mentor like that, I mean, considering his, um, _parents,”_ he said, making a face.

The boy tried to hold back a laugh, and smiled back. “Tell me about it.”

Grantaire felt himself weak in the knees at that smile. His heart soared with pride that he was able to draw it out of him, and yet at the same time he knew he was still completely unworthy. A moment ago he had been competing with the blank metal doors for the boy’s attention. Yet he had won that battle, and now he wanted to keep up his winning streak with something witty, something else to make him laugh. But all he managed to get out was a simple “yeah,” before the elevator car drifted to a halt, and the doors were opening onto the ground floor. “A-after you,” Grantaire added quickly, gesturing for him to exit first.

“Thanks,” the boy said, and headed out of the elevator into the lobby, without a backward glance.

Grantaire stepped out after him, watching the scarlet clad figure walk towards the glass doors, silhouetted by the grey light of the coming storm _This is it, this could be your only chance,_ he told himself, as the boy pushed on the door, and suddenly a life Grantaire didn’t have flashed before his eyes. He could see the two of them, weathering the storm together, Grantaire cooking a nice, comforting meal for them both, and then they would huddle on the couch as the snow fell, keeping each other warm before a crackling fire. Grantaire didn’t even own a couch, let alone a fireplace. But in this fantastical moment it seemed anything was possible, and before he knew it, words were spilling from his lips. “H-hey wait!” he called, running to catch up.

“Hm?” The boy turned, halfway out the door, and glanced from Grantaire down to the floor of the lobby, as if he had been stopped for dropping something. 

“I…I…” Grantaire stammered, before mustering his courage and trying again. “I don’t normally do this kind of thing but I just...I just have this feeling and if I don’t ask, I know I’ll spend forever wishing I had so I...I just…”

The boy drew his brows together in concern, thoroughly confused.

_Say it._ “I just was wondering if I could get your number,” Grantaire finally got out, exhaling a breath of relief.

But the boy’s look of bewilderment turned to horror, eyes widening in disbelief. “No,” he said quickly, almost frightened, shaking his head, before he recovered from his shock, repeating it firmly once more. “No. Goodbye.” He turned and left, letting the door swing shut in Grantaire’s face. 

Grantaire stood there in the lobby, dumbfounded, squeezing the cloth handles of the grocery bags in his hand, until finally he closed his eyes, and let out another breath, his body seeming to wilt. _Fucking idiot,_ he thought, ashamed of himself. 

When enough time had passed, when he was certain the boy would have crossed over to the next block, he finally brought himself to push open the door and leave the building. Immediately struck by the cold wind, he reached into his coat pocket for the knit gloves he kept balled up inside, fumbling to pull them on. But even with his winter clothes, the chill was still seeping in. By the time he had managed to walk the three blocks to the grocery store, his nose and cheeks were near frozen as the first flakes of snow began to fall, and he was in a right state. 

_What did you think was going to happen?_ he thought miserably as he took a cart and wheeled it over into the produce section. _You didn’t even ask him his name._ He pawed through the fruit and vegetables with his gloved hands, consulting the grocery list in his pocket as he began to fill his cart. Bananas. Strawberries. Carrots. _You didn’t even tell him your name._ Spinach, mushrooms, tomatoes, potatoes. _He knew absolutely nothing about you._ Basil, oregano. _He couldn’t care less._

Grantaire pushed his cart over to the meat cases. _And you knew hardly anything about him. You only wanted him for his looks, right?_ he thought scornfully as he placed a tray of raw chicken into the basket. _Don’t you know when you’re out of your league?_ Honeyed ham. Italian sausage. Bacon. _Loser._

He pushed his cart into the nearest aisle. _I mean a guy like that isn’t single anyway,_ he told himself as he picked up a box of spaghetti. _He’s got a boyfriend. ...Or a girlfriend. He might not even like..._ He bit his lip, clutching a package of rice, and remembered the golden curls, the tailored coat, the designer bag slung across his body. _Okay let’s face it, a boy like that ain’t straight, but…he’s either taken or…_

_Or you’re a stupid fuck up who thinks you can just ask for someone’s number outright. Who do you think you are, Casanova? You exchange a few words and you slobber all over him like a creep? Good. Fucking. Job._ Another loud sigh, and he was down the baking aisle, leaning heavily on the cart as he threw flour, sugar, paprika, and salt into the basket.

_Get a grip, man. That was embarrassing. You’re better than that, aren’t you?_ He shook his head as he rolled over to the dairy section. _...Apparently not._ Milk, juice, cheese. _Next time you should talk to the guy for longer than two minutes._ Eggs, butter, cream. _Next time you should keep it in your fucking pants._

_Too late now,_ he answered himself, grabbing a fresh loaf of bread from the bakery before he wheeled up to the checkout. _With him, there won’t be a next time._

When he stepped out of the store with his grocery bags, the automatic doors parting in his wake, he was met with a blast of snowflakes. He pulled his hat down tighter, his scarf up higher, and plunged homeward through the falling snow, flurries getting caught in his eyelashes. Walking as fast as he could, he tread carefully on the icy sidewalks, watching the toes of his boots, head down against the wind. His grocery bags were heavy in his hands and filling with snow, but he pushed onward, scarf billowing behind him, and finally made it back to the apartment building, seemingly just in time.

It was a breath of relief as he stepped out of the storm into the quiet lobby, but then he heard the chime of the elevator and quickly jogged around the corner. “Hold the door, hold the door!” he called as he saw the doors rolling closed. A hand darted out and held them back, and Grantaire hurried over, bags in tow. “Thank you,” he said as he stepped gratefully into the elevator, and froze. His eyes met those of the boy in the scarlet coat, a coat now covered in snow. The boy’s eyes widened in alarm upon recognition, and pointedly, annoyedly, looked away.

Grantaire slowly turned and pushed the button for his floor, noticing the other was heading back to the Thenardiers, and stepped to the side to keep what little distance he could as the doors closed. His eyes were fixed on the floor in shame, the silence falling heavily around them, save for the whirring of the cables as they began to ascend. 

Grantaire awkwardly shifted his groceries and raised his hand to brush snow from the shoulders of his jacket, feigning nonchalance. _Why is this thing so god damn slow?_ he grumbled in his head, clutching the handles of his bags tighter and wishing he could disappear. The air was stifling, and though it was nearly as frigid in the elevator as outside in the storm, he was growing hot under the collar, cheeks red behind his plaid scarf. Each second seemed an eternity, an abyss of rejection and humiliation opening up to swallow him whole, as he stood beside this person who wanted to be anywhere but here with him. _Please, please, please, release me,_ Grantaire begged the universe. _Do you hear me? Make. It. Stop._

The lights cut out, the cables screeched, and suddenly they were brought to a jerking, bouncing halt. The boy beside him gasped in fright, and Grantaire dropped his bags, throwing his arms out for balance. The car jittered and swung beneath their feet, rocking in the air, before it finally began to still. As it came to rest, Grantaire let out a soft curse into the pitch black air all around them. “Shit.”

Beside him, he heard the boy’s breaths. They were shaky at first, then gradually grew faster, louder, his sharp gasps pushing through the darkness. Grantaire recognized that sound. It was the sound of an impending panic attack, and would probably soon turn into serious hyperventilation if Grantaire didn’t intervene. “Hey, hey,” he started, trying to sound reassuring through his own fear. “D-don’t freak out. Let’s just both do our best to remain calm.” But the boy’s breathing only grew louder, and if he kept panicking, then Grantaire would panic, and then things would get far worse. “Stop, _please,_ ” Grantaire tried again, to no avail, his heart pounding.

He had a feeling that going near the boy to try to comfort him would only upset him more. Instead, he fumbled in his pocket, and took out his phone, turning on the flashlight. “ _Slow down,_ ” Grantaire cut in through the frightened gasps, shining the flashlight at his own face so the boy could see him. “You don’t want to use up all the air.”

The reminder seemed to shock the boy to his senses, for after one last gasp that caught in his throat, he quieted, letting out a slow, shuddering breath. “That’s it,” Grantaire encouraged. “It’s going to be okay. This happens to people all the time. That’s why they have…” He turned his flashlight to the elevator console and began searching for the emergency phone button. “These,” he said, spotting it and pushing it in.

Nothing. No dial tone, no sound. “Storm’s knocked the power out,” Grantaire concluded in a hollow voice, dropping his hand. 

“U-use _your_ phone then,” the boy said, his voice cracking as he finally spoke up.

Grantaire didn’t want to tell him what he already knew. He didn’t get reception inside the apartment elevator, never had. Instead, he dialed the emergency line anyway and waited with the tiniest shred of hope, just in case today was the day he managed to get a sliver of reception in the elevator shaft. 

It wasn’t. 

“No signal,” he finally said as the phone automatically hung up, abandoning its attempt to call for help. “You got one?”

“I left my phone upstairs,” the boy growled through clenched teeth. “Otherwise I’d be home right now.”

“Oh,” Grantaire replied, deflating even more.

“How the hell are we supposed to get out of here?” the boy hissed.

“Maybe we just...make a bunch of noise?” Grantaire turned to the doors and made a fist, banging on them sharply. “Hey!!” he called as the metal reverberated beneath his hand. “Anyone out there!?”

A disciplinary hand suddenly smacked his shoulder. “Now _you_ stop!”

“What!?” Grantaire pulled back in confusion.

“Do you _want_ this thing to fall?” the boy asked angrily. “Just...just don’t make any sudden moves. I _doubt_ this building is up to code.”

He had a point. The Thenardiers weren’t fussed about getting repairs done when they were needed, and who knew when the last time the elevator was serviced. Grantaire had no proof the emergency phone had been working _before_ the power had gone out. “What do we do then, just yell?”

“Better than you shaking the doors,” the boy answered testily.

There was a pause, then they both began to shout “help!” in unison, their voices echoing all around the elevator car. They paused to listen intently, then tried again, and again, but there was no response, no sound from outside. There was no way to tell where they were, how far up or what floor they had made it to, or if they had been caught somewhere in between levels.

“No one will be leaving their apartment in this storm,” Grantaire said defeatedly, turning off the flashlight and leaving them in darkness once more. “No one’s going to be out in the hallway. They’re not gonna hear us.”

“Why… _why_ did I not take the stairs?” said the boy to himself, his voice thin and wavering. “I could have just taken the stairs!”

“Are you claustrophobic?” Grantaire asked gently, concerned the boy was close to panic again.

“What?” he snapped.

“Or possibly afraid of heights?” Grantaire continued.

When the other spoke again, it was with carefully measured hostility. “...I am afraid of dark, enclosed spaces with a…”

There was a pause.

“No, please, continue,” Grantaire said flatly.

“...with a stranger like you,” he answered all at once in a huff.

Grantaire exhaled slowly. “I deserve that,” he admitted. The boy was probably afraid of all sorts of things now they were stuck together, after Grantaire's profession of interest. “There’s no need to be scared of me,” he started again, feeling terribly guilty. “I’m harmless, I promise. Here, let me not be a stranger anymore. I’m Grantaire.”

The elevator was silent in response. Grantaire waited, but there was no reply.

“And you are?” he prompted.

Again, a stubborn silence.

Grantaire turned his flashlight back on, shining it in the boy’s direction to see if he was alright. He saw him squinting, holding up his hand to shield his eyes from the light. “Enjolras,” he answered with exasperation, rolling his eyes towards the wall. “It’s Enjolras.”

“Okay, Enjolras,” Grantaire nodded, turning off the light. “Shall we sit down?” When he was met with silence, he continued. “We could be in here for a while.” He silently thanked the universe he had gone to the bathroom shortly before he went to the store.

“Fine,” Enjolras agreed. “Just...do it carefully.”

“I know, I know. No sudden moves.”

They both slowly sat down, Grantaire against the back wall, Enjolras in the corner near the elevator buttons. In the quiet that settled over them, Grantaire was glad that some semblance of calm had returned. And though it was clear the uncomfortable air from their previous encounter still lingered, Grantaire was somehow relieved he hadn’t been stuck here alone, however awkward it was.

“Listen, I just want to say I...I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that, earlier. That was really inappropriate of me, and I apologize. Truly,” he said softly. 

“...Thank you,” Enjolras said curtly after a pause. Then he heard the sound of him opening up his bag and digging through it.

“I’m...a bit of a romantic,” Grantaire continued, unsure where exactly he was going in his attempt to relieve the tension. “Overzealous. My imagination sort of ran away with me.”

The noises continued as Enjolras rooted around for whatever he was looking for in the darkness.

“I didn’t mean to put you in a vulnerable position, and-”

“Hey, can you shine your light over here for a sec?” Enjolras interrupted distractedly.

“Oh. Sure.” Grantaire raised his phone and turned the flashlight on again, shining it into Enjolras’s corner.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, and pushed aside what looked like textbooks and papers inside the bag to get to the bottom. “Oh, thank god,” he whispered as he found something at the bottom, pulling it out. It rattled in his hand.

“What’s that?” Grantaire asked curiously.

“Xanax,” Enjolras said with relish, giving the bottle a little shake.

“That’ll do,” Grantaire remarked.

“You have any water in there?” Enjolras nodded towards the grocery bags.

“Juice?” he offered. “It’s pineapple.”

“Fine.”

Grantaire turned the flashlight over to his groceries and found the large bottle of juice, passing it across the elevator. He watched as Enjolras palmed a pill into his mouth, took a swig from the bottle, and handed it back over.

“Thanks,” he said offhandedly.

“No problem,” Grantaire said, putting the bottle away. _Now why couldn’t I have just bought wine instead?_ he asked himself, thinking of his own relaxant of choice. “I struggle with anxiety, too,” he volunteered as he turned out the light.

“Oh?” Enjolras said, sounding mildly disinterested.

“Most notably on airplanes. I turn into an absolute wreck, it’s terrible. But you know, something that helps me is just turning to the person beside me and talking to them. It doesn’t matter if they’re a stranger, or if I don’t have anything in common with them. Just asking them to speak to me while I’m in the throes of my mental breakdown makes everything feel just a little bit better. Knowing that someone else can keep calm while trapped in a box calms me down, too.”

“So you’re trying to tell me that talking to you will help,” Enjolras said, sounding doubtful.

“Yes. That’s right. So let me introduce myself properly.” He took a deep breath, and began again. “I’m Grantaire. I’m twenty-five years old. Uh...I attended university for three years before I decided academia wasn’t for me and left to pursue my true calling. Which is food. Now I’m a soon to be graduate of cooking school and I...was just coming home from grocery shopping before I landed myself in this mess.”

There was a pause, until Enjolras finally replied. “Must be frustrating then, to be so close to home.”

“And yet so far away? At least it’s cold as a fridge in here.” He nodded towards his bags, though he realized in the pitch dark, his gesture was useless. “The food won't spoil.”

“At least it’s cold?” Enjolras repeated back with a snort. “I’m gonna freeze to death if we don’t get out of here.”

Grantaire remembered that he was the only one with a hat and gloves, and seemingly the only one with a proper coat. Enjolras’s red one was fashionable, but thin, and he had been covered with snow when they got into the elevator. And, Grantaire remembered, while he had been shopping, Enjolras had presumably been outside in the cold the whole time, walking in the direction of home before having to turn around and come back. “I’m sorry,” he said with sympathy. “Hopefully they’ll...restore the power soon.” He wasn't getting his hopes up. 

Grantaire fell silent then, resting his head against the back wall, and closed his eyes. A minute or so passed, and then Enjolras’s voice returned. “I’m twenty-two,” he offered quietly. “I’m a senior poli-sci major at university.”

“A what major?” Grantaire asked, pleasantly surprised Enjolras was open to talking about himself.

“Political science,” he clarified.

“Oh.” Grantaire had to keep himself from making a face. Then he realized Enjolras couldn’t see him, and made a face anyway. Politics was the least enjoyable subject Grantaire could think of, outright depressing, terrifying, infuriating, in fact. _I’d need that Xanax too, if I were him._ “You, uh, wanna be a politician?”

“I want to make a positive impact on the world, however I can. Whether it’s for all the world to see, or behind the scenes. I’m not looking for fame, I’m looking for change.” Enjolras sounded as if his own words were soothing him. “I’m going to do whatever I can.”

“That’s noble of you,” Grantaire replied.

“Sarcasm?”

“No. It’s very admirable.” Then he smirked. “As long as you believe what I believe.”

Enjolras chuckled softly. “Well, based on what I know...I’d wager you’re a lefty, aren’t you?”

Enjolras was correct, though seeing as Grantaire had already revealed his sexual leanings with all the grace of a drunken goat, his political leanings weren’t hard to predict. “Did you mean in beliefs, or in hands?” he asked teasingly. “Doesn’t matter, it’s yes to both. And you?”

“Right-handed and leaning far, far left,” Enjolras replied. Grantaire could hear the smile in his voice, and he smiled back.

“Ah, if only you hadn’t said that,” he joked. “I don’t associate with right-handers.”

“Oh no,” Enjolras said carelessly, rolling with the punch. “That’s a shame. You put that on your dating profile?”

Grantaire was taken aback. “I-I don’t have a dating profile.”

“Oh well maybe you should get one. It might work out better for you than asking for numbers in elevators.”

_...Ouch._ Grantaire’s mouth struggled to form an answer as he recovered from the slight. “I-I’ll have you know we weren’t _in_ the elevator at the time,” he managed, trying to play it off.

“Mhm,” Enjolras agreed, though it clearly didn’t matter to him either way. Grantaire’s cheeks were burning with shame, but Enjolras didn’t allow the silence to settle over them again. “So you’re afraid of planes, but you’re not afraid of being stuck in here?” he asked testily, seemingly bothered he was the only one who had panicked.

“I guess,” Grantaire answered, uncertain exactly why it wasn’t the same.

“How is this any different? How is this any _better_? It’s a million times worse,” Enjolras said matter-of-factly.

“No,” Grantaire refuted simply.

“No!?”

“We’re not shaking around and hurtling towards the earth at ten thousand miles an hour, I’d say that’s an improvement.”

“We might be if this elevator falls,” Enjolras replied.

“I’ll live,” Grantaire decided. “This building ain’t thirty-five thousand feet high.”

“So you’re afraid of heights?”

“I’m afraid of airplanes,” he corrected. “As we established.”

“Planes have food, water, light, _bathrooms_ , and a crew telling you when the ride will be over.”

“We have light,” Grantaire said cheekily, turning on his flashlight and shining it into the corner where Enjolras was curled up, hugging his knees to his chest. He squinted at the brightness, turning his face in annoyance, his breath visible in the cold air as he huffed out a sigh.

Grantaire turned the light to the grocery bags. “We have…” _food,_ he wanted to say, though raw meat and vegetables weren’t exactly the best of offerings. “Bananas,” he amended. “Bread.”

“Blankets,” Enjolras said mournfully. “Planes have blankets.”

“...Enjolras,” Grantaire started, looking back over at him. Even with the phone idle in his hand, the light pointing to the floor, he could see the frown on Enjolras’s darkened face. “If you wanted to sit over here, we could keep each other-”

“No,” Enjolras said quickly. Then again, softer, shaking his head, “No. I’m fine right here.” 

“Okay. I just wanted to offer. You’d be safe if you did.”

Enjolras nodded, but waved his hand dismissively. “I’m fine,” he said again.

“Do you want a banana?”

“...Okay.”

“Yeah? Alright.” Grantaire leaned over to his bags, holding out the light, and spotted the bananas sitting at the top of one of them, wet with snow. He tore one off the bunch, brushed it off, and held it out to Enjolras’s territory in the corner. “Here.” Enjolras reached out a tentative hand and took it from him, and Grantaire set the phone on the floor, flashlight up so Enjolras could have some light to eat by.

“What’s…your favorite food?” Grantaire asked conversationally, as Enjolras peeled the banana.

“Hmm,” Enjolras intoned, thinking as he took a bite. “I don’t know. Grilled cheese?”

“Grilled cheese?” Grantaire snorted. 

“ _I don’t know,_ ” Enjolras repeated in annoyance. “I eat a lot of grilled cheese sandwiches at home.”

“That doesn’t sound like the answer to my question. Eating a lot of something doesn’t mean it’s your favorite.”

“Why does it matter? Why do you care?”

“I like talking about food.”

Enjolras heaved a sigh once more, and took another bite of banana. “I don’t like cooking. I don’t have time to do it. Grilled cheese is cheap and fast and doesn’t come out of the freezer.”

“You don’t like to cook,” Grantaire echoed back, feigning shock.

“Yes, Grantaire, we can't all be chefs like you.”

Grantaire's mouth twitched into a smile, glad that Enjolras had even remembered his name let alone his profession. “No, not everyone has the gift. Those of us that do are here to refine and perfect the art of indulgence.”

“The art of indulgence,” Enjolras repeated with scorn.

“Ah, I know what you’re thinking. You’re the type that regards food as merely a source of energy, and not a source of pleasure.”

“I don’t concern myself with pl-” Enjolras stopped short, and cleared his throat. “There are more important things to focus on than self-indulgence.”

“Like designer coats and bags?” Grantaire asked airily.

Enjolras sucked in his breath, struck dumb before his voice returned, low and defensive. “In my field it’s important to dress professionally. It’s proven social science that appeal is an element of success. It’s not vanity, it’s strategy.”

“Or, you know,” Grantaire suggested, shrugging. “Sometimes it feels good to look nice. I’m just teasing, Enjolras, I’m not one to throw stones. You can be as fashionable as you want, I’m all for it.”

“Not...not everything I own is…” Enjolras grumbled, before taking another bite of banana to shut himself up. “Here,” he added, reaching over and setting the banana peel in Grantaire's hands.

“Oh, _thank you,_ ” Grantaire gushed sarcastically. “I did want that back.” He reached over to tuck it down into the groceries, before turning out the flashlight to conserve battery power. “Let’s just hope we get out of here before it starts to smell like banana.” Luckily, as miserable as Enjolras was, it was cold. They’d be a lot worse off in a sweltering hot elevator full of spoiled groceries. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Mmf,” Enjolras grunted from his corner. 

“Anyone at home worried about where you are right now?” Grantaire asked.

“...Are you asking if I’m single?” Enjolras replied suspiciously.

“I’m asking if there’s anyone who thinks you’re missing in the blizzard right now,” Grantaire corrected slowly.

“You’re asking if I’m single,” Enjolras said back, mimicking his tone of voice.

Grantaire opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to proceed with the argument. He hadn’t thought he was asking that but...was he?

“The answer is no,” Enjolras said firmly.

“‘No,’ no one is waiting for you or…”

“No to both. No I don’t have someone waiting at home, and no I’m not single.”

“Ah,” Grantaire nodded. _That’s what I thought. Too pretty to be single._ “Figures.”

He heard Enjolras sigh. “I’m not _single,_ because I’m not _available_ ,” he explained. “I’m off the market. I don’t date.”

_Okay, not exactly what I thought._ “Why not?” Grantaire asked automatically.

“Because I don’t have time to waste on something like that,” Enjolras replied, as if it were obvious.

“Well, aren’t you fun?” Grantaire laughed.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t have time to date, you don’t have time to eat, you do community service on weekends, so what do you get to do for yourself?” he asked. “Oh, that’s right, shop.”

“ _Shut up,_ ” Enjolras snapped. “What I do or don’t do is none of your business.”

“You’re right,” Grantaire agreed, backing down. “Sorry, sorry. I’m being inappropriate again, aren’t I?”

“Terribly,” Enjolras agreed indignantly. “So challenge yourself to keep your mouth shut, let’s try that for a little bit.”

“...Alright,” Grantaire relented, and lay his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

Silence returned, though strangely it was more comfortable this time. Despite the slight hostility in the air, Grantaire no longer felt so overtly embarrassed over his rejection. Even if he had been more attractive, even if he had been more charming, even if he hadn’t been a complete fuck up, the results probably would have been the same. Enjolras wasn’t interested in anybody, and he took comfort in that. Besides, he assuaged himself, he knew now they weren’t a match.

It was some time before he heard Enjolras shifting around uncomfortably, and the sound of him blowing on his hands, trying to keep warm.

“Enjolras…”

“I’m fine,” he replied, his voice muffled, as if he might have been hiding inside his collar.

“Your coat’s wet, isn’t it?” Grantaire asked. “Why don’t you-”

“I’m _fine,_ ” Enjolras insisted.

“Sure,” Grantaire sighed. 

“...I should have just gone home,” Enjolras said sadly, after a pause. “I was just...I mean it’s stupid but-”

“You didn’t want to leave your phone with the Thenardiers,” Grantaire finished for him.

“Exactly.”

“I get it.”

“It’s not Gavroche, I have nothing against the kid. I think I like him, but it’s his parents. They’re just so…” Enjolras trailed off.

“Yeah,” Grantaire agreed.

“I mean, what if they look up my bank information, or pretend they haven’t seen my phone by the time I get back up there?”

“You sure you left it there?”

“Yeah. On Gavroche’s desk.”

“Well, hopefully he’ll keep it safe for you until you return.”

“How do you even live here?” Enjolras asked. “With landlords like that?”

“Here’s a secret,” Grantaire said. “I changed my locks. If they had another key to my apartment, it doesn’t work now.”

Enjolras gave a muffled laugh through his coat. “Can you even do that?”

“Oh, I’ll hand back the new keys whenever I move out. But they’d have to call a locksmith if they wanted to snoop, and lucky for me I have very few valuables.”

“Why don’t you move?”

“It’s near the cooking school. I can walk there, and for now I can still afford the rent. We’ll see. Right now I plan to stay until I get a job. Then maybe I’ll get paid enough to upgrade. Someday.”

“If we ever get out of this elevator,” Enjolras mumbled through his coat.

“Yes. I’ll either graduate cooking school or end up a skeleton in here, it’s a toss up.”

“Don’t say that.”

“What, you don’t want to die here beside me?”

“No,” Enjolras huffed.

“Wouldn’t that be lovely? They open the doors, and there we are, wasted aw-” Grantaire stopped short with a gasp, covering his mouth as he remembered. “Oh no…”

“What? What is it?” Enjolras asked, suddenly alert.

“I’m a terrible parent,” Grantaire said in a small voice.

“...You’re a parent?” Enjolras echoed, bewildered.

“Allow me to clarify that my daughter is a cat,” Grantaire swallowed. “I left the house in a hurry and didn’t feed her.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said softly. “So _you_ have someone at home waiting for you.”

“Yes,” Grantaire nodded with a sigh. “Poor thing. I should have fed her, it would have taken me two minutes. And now look at me. You never know what kind of weird shit is going to happen when you leave the house.”

“I knew,” Enjolras admitted. “I knew there was going to be a storm and I still came here anyway. I didn’t want to cancel on Gavroche. Then I just _had_ to go and leave my stupid phone there...”

“I knew there was going to be a storm, too,” Grantaire added dejectedly. “I guess it is my fault then. I wasn’t prepared. Now my cat thinks I abandoned her, and I’m locked up in here like a jackass.”

“We’re both idiots,” Enjolras concluded, and Grantaire heard the sound of his breath shuddering as he spoke. 

“Enjolras…”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, though he didn’t sound fine. “S-so. How about you, chef?” he asked in deflection. “What’s _your_ favorite food?”

Grantaire twisted his mouth to the side in concern, but decided to humor him. “For me, it seems to change every week. I get caught up in something and fall in love with a flavor. Then I’ll learn something new the next week and fall in love all over again.”

“I hope you’re not that way with people,” Enjolras said, tucked back in his coat again.

“No, no,” Grantaire shook his head. “Definitely not. The beauty of food is that it’s meant to be enjoyed that way. You don’t just stick with grilled cheese, you try everything, you sample and you share and take a little of this and a little of that and learn to evolve.”

“So what was your favorite food last week?” Enjolras asked, sounding skeptical.

“Coq au vin,” he answered sensually, reimagining the flavors on his tongue. The rich body of the wine, the delicate, buttery carrots, the tender glazed meat, falling off the bone.

“And this week?”

“Grilled cheese,” Grantaire said flippantly, leaning his head back against the wall, and he heard Enjolras laughing softly in his corner. “Maybe we finally have something in common.”

“Politics too,” Enjolras reminded him.

“No. We may be leftists but we come from very different schools of thought.”

“Oh? How so?” he pressed.

“You’re an idealist, I’m a realist.”

“A cynic, you mean.”

“Yes. You believe in change. And I believe the more you try to change things the more they stay the same,” Grantaire said. He didn’t like to admit it, in fact it pained him he believed it, but he did. “It’s all a losing battle. There will always be an imbalance of power, and corruption to tip the scale.”

“So no one should do anything?” Enjolras challenged. “We should all sit around and be consumed by the power and corruption surrounding us? I don’t think so. Please tell me you at least vote.”

“I do,” Grantaire replied, wishing he hadn’t brought it up. “It's not that I don’t believe in progress, it’s just that...humans as a species are inherently selfish. It’s instinctive. There’s always going to be selfishness working its way behind the scenes, no matter how much we try to stop it.”

“That’s rich, coming from someone who was preaching self-indulgence earlier.”

“That’s different,” Grantaire said in a hushed voice. Now it was his turn to be defensive. “Little indulgences bring us joy, and make life worth living. Food, clothes, pleasure. We do what we can for ourselves, because so often it's hard to find happiness anymore. We need a reason to wake up in the morning. I choose to cook, because I can create small moments of joy, for myself, and for others.”

“And I choose to fight for change, because that belief is what makes _my_ life worth living,” Enjolras stated, quiet but firm.

Grantaire let his words sink in, contemplating with eyes closed. “Well...I’m glad there are people like you out there. Because I’m not strong enough to be that way. But if you do truly believe things will turn for the better, maybe...maybe…” He trailed off as he heard, from the corner, the unmistakable sound of Enjolras’s teeth chattering.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire commanded, sitting up. “Come here.”

“I’m f-”

“ _Enjolras,_ ” Grantaire repeated sternly.

He heard Enjolras’s conflicting emotions through his audible breaths, an angry huff, a reluctant sigh, before finally he was shifting from his tight corner and scooting over to him. 

Grantaire reached out in the dark, and found the cold, damp coat beneath his fingers. He slid his hands down and undid Enjolras’s buttons. “No, it’s freezing,” Enjolras protested as Grantaire pulled the coat from his arms, but he didn’t fight it.

Grantaire unzipped his own coat, and pulled one arm out of it, freeing a sleeve. Drawing Enjolras to his side, he wrapped that half of the coat around him, helping his arm into the empty sleeve. Then he took Enjolras’s hands and held them between his gloved hands, rubbing warmth back into them. “I’m not going to let you freeze to death,” Grantaire said determinedly. Enjolras shivered against him, stiff and silent, but as he grew accustomed to their intimacy, he relaxed, and his head dropped to Grantaire’s shoulder. There they sat in a huddle, sharing Grantaire’s coat together on the elevator floor.

“Y-you’ve been hoarding all the h-heat,” Enjolras accused.

“I tried to mention it several times,” Grantaire chided. He leaned down to blow warmth on Enjolras’s icy hands, still held between his own.

“I’m sorry, I’m just not...not used to being close to people,” Enjolras said, his body trembling against Grantaire's side.

“‘I’m not a people person,’ said the politician,” Grantaire joked.

“That’s not w-what I mean and you know it,” Enjolras said in exasperation.

“Mhm.” Grantaire continued to rub Enjolras’s hands between his own, massaging them to get the blood flowing. “Better?”

“Yes,” Enjolras nodded against his shoulder, his shivering beginning to subside. “I want to get out of here,” he said in a small voice.

“Me too,” Grantaire agreed. “If...when we do, I’m gonna be more responsible, from now on.”

“Is that a resolution, Grantaire?”

“Yeah, aren’t you supposed to learn something from these kinds of experiences? I’m never gonna leave the house again without making sure my cat is taken care of first. I’ll make sure I always have groceries long before a storm hits.”

“Well, then...I suppose I won’t leave anywhere without checking for my phone first,” Enjolras decided. “I’ll try to cancel my appointments, if there’s going to be a blizzard.”

“Try?” Grantaire pressed.

“I probably won’t, knowing me,” he grumbled. 

“I’ve got a resolution for you,” Grantaire suggested, as he felt Enjolras cuddle closer. “You should learn to listen to your body.”

“What do you mean?” Enjolras asked.

“I mean you were about to let yourself get hypothermia. Why are you wearing a fall coat in the dead of winter in the first place?” 

“Mm,” Enjolras grunted.

“Get yourself a good pair of gloves, too. Treat yourself nice. And eat something besides grilled cheese.”

Enjolras laughed softly. “Sometimes I eat cereal, too.”

“Oh, fancy, are we?” Grantaire nodded in mock approval. 

“Very,” Enjolras said, sounding exhausted, as he shifted and pressed his face into the scarf looped around Grantaire’s neck. 

Grantaire picked up the trailing end of the scarf, and draped it over Enjolras. “And maybe,” he added quietly, “it’s okay to allow yourself to be close to someone, when you need it.”

“For survival purposes only,” Enjolras grumbled, but he didn’t move, his hands still held in Grantaire’s warm grasp. “I don’t even know you.”

“You don’t,” Grantaire agreed. “Does that matter right now?”

“No,” Enjolras replied, and fell silent.

Grantaire closed his eyes and lay his head protectively over Enjolras’s, thankful his shivering had stopped. All they could do was wait until it was over, and so they sat, the minutes stretching past into what felt like hours as Grantaire kept Enjolras warm. There was nothing but their steady breaths in the darkness, Enjolras’s chest rising and falling against Grantaire’s side. At one point, Grantaire thought Enjolras might have fallen asleep, but then he gently stirred, and spoke.

“Do you know how I realized I left my phone behind?” he asked sleepily.

“How’s that?” Grantaire responded.

“I thought about you asking for my number, the whole time I was walking back. I had my hands in my pockets, and thinking about my phone I suddenly realized I couldn’t feel it in either one. I was halfway home when I had to turn around.”

“So if it weren’t for me, you would have made it home?” 

“Maybe. But…” He shook his head slowly against Grantaire’s shoulder. “I’d probably be just as anxious at home without my phone than I am in here. It sounds stupid, I know,” Enjolras sighed.

“No, I understand.”

“Anyway, that’s...not how it happened, and...and you _did_ remind me to come back.” 

“Unintentionally,” Grantaire added sheepishly.

“Yes, unintentionally,” Enjolras agreed.

Grantaire paused, then his mouth curved up in a small smile. “You were thinking about me all the way home?”

Enjolras laughed under his breath. “Nothing good, I assure you.”

“Uh oh,” Grantaire replied lazily. “And what do you think of me now?” 

He felt Enjolras raise his head off his shoulder. “...I’m warming up to you,” he whispered, his voice close to Grantaire’s ear.

Grantaire turned his head slowly, eyebrows raised, uncertain how close they were in the dark, uncertain if Enjolras knew how close he was. He could feel Enjolras’s breath against his cheek, his mouth so near to his own. “Are you?” Grantaire asked in a low voice. 

And then, in a flash, he could see Enjolras, his wide eyes and blushing cheeks so intimately close. Then they were both squinting, dazed by the sudden light. They hardly had time to realize what was happening before the elevator was rumbling back to life beneath them, and beginning, finally, to rise once more. 

“The power’s back!” Enjolras cried, attempting to spring to his feet, but forgetting he was tethered by their shared coat, he fell clumsily back onto Grantaire. Once again, they were nearly nose to nose. His blush grew deeper, and he offered an embarrassed smile, struggling to get out of the coat. 

“Easy, easy,” Grantaire said gently, helping him out of his sleeve. When Enjolras was free, he scrambled up and made a grab for his red coat, hastily pulling it back on. Then he threw his bag over his shoulder and was standing by the doors, eager as a dog, before Grantaire had even gotten to his feet. 

By the time Grantaire was able to put his coat back on properly and collect his groceries, the elevator was rolling to a gentle stop. With a welcoming, relieving chime, the doors parted on his floor. Enjolras scurried out, and Grantaire followed after, pulling out his keys as he crossed the hallway to his door. “Hey,” he called to Enjolras over his shoulder, as he pushed the key into the lock. “I thought you were headed upstairs.”

“That’s exactly where I’m going,” Enjolras said firmly. “Up _stairs_.” With that, he turned and pushed open the door to the stairwell. 

“Wait, Enjolras,” Grantaire called again, and Enjolras stopped, his hand resting on the door as he looked back.

Grantaire didn’t even know what he wanted to say, his mind tripping over the possibilities. _It was nice meeting you. Thanks for tolerating me. It’s been fun. You owe me a banana. Can I have your number now?_ “Goodbye,” he settled on simply, giving him a smile.

Enjolras’s mouth tightened, as if he were stopping himself from saying anything back. Instead he nodded, returning the smile as best he could through closed lips, and whisked away up the stairs, the door swinging conclusively shut behind him.

Grantaire stared at the door for a moment, then gave an idle glance back at the elevator, before turning the key and finally setting foot in his apartment again. 

Whiskey immediately ran to meet him at the door, mewling loudly to complain about how late he was. He set down his bags, tossed his gloves on the counter and picked her up, scratching her under the chin as he held her close. “Aw, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he cooed plaintively. “Daddy’s back. It’s food time now, I promise.” 

She squawked an impatient reply, squirming in his arms.

Without any further delay, Grantaire opened up a can of cat food, spooned it into her bowl, and set it down in front of her on the kitchen floor. It had hardly left his hand when she dove in, devouring her long awaited meal and purring in satisfaction. He stroked her ears, gave her a pat, then stood up to shed the rest of his winter wear; his coat, hat, and boots. Finally he was able to put his groceries safely in the fridge, dispose of Enjolras’s banana peel, and thankfully, use the bathroom. Then, after turning on the radiator to heat up the room, he went to the window and watched the large flakes of snow billowing down before the dark grey sky, so thick he could hardly see the building across the narrow street. Down below, the pavement was covered in a growing mountain of white, no footprints or tire tracks to be seen. _Oh, Enjolras,_ he thought grimly. _Good luck getting home._

He stood leaning on the windowsill for a few minutes, watching the snowfall, his breath fogging the glass, until Whiskey returned to his side, rubbing up against his leg. “Yes, yes,” he simpered, before stirring and turning to his dresser. From it he took a pair of soft plaid pajama pants to trade for his jeans, and was halfway into them when he heard a light rapping on the door. He quickly pulled up his pants, tucking in the drawstrings, and went over curiously, wondering if it was a neighbor in need, or a Thenardier, or possibly a certain someone in a scarlet coat.

He opened the door, and standing there sheepishly, shoulders covered in half-melted snow, face red from the cold and winded from his journey up the stairs, was Enjolras. “Listen...” he started, embarrassed, but as he opened his mouth to continue Grantaire stopped him with a gesture, holding the door open and beckoning him inside. 

Enjolras nodded and walked in, though as he did he stared up at Grantaire, seeing him for the first time without his winter hat. “H-how old did you say you were again?” he asked, startled.

Grantaire smiled pleasantly, as if he didn’t get that question all the time. “Twenty-five but well seasoned,” he replied sincerely, casually combing his fingers through the premature streak of grey in his dark hair. “If you needed proof academia wasn’t for me, here it is.”

Enjolras stared at it curiously, watching Grantaire’s hand. “Kitchens are stressful places too, I hear,” he pointed out.

“All careers have their stresses, but doing what you love changes everything.”

“Mm,” Enjolras nodded solemnly. Then he gave a start, and looked down to see Whiskey butting her head against his leg. 

“The queen has come to say hello,” Grantaire informed him, reaching down to pick her up. “Enjolras, this is Whiskey. Whiskey, Enjolras. You’re not allergic to cats, are you?”

“No,” Enjolras shook his head, and tentatively reached out to pet the cat in Grantaire’s arms. “Did you get her something to eat?”

“Yes. Did you get your phone?”

“Yes,” Enjolras echoed. “And look, I...I don’t mean to burden you or anything, but the Thenardiers weren’t exactly welcoming me into their home. So I thought I’d...maybe come here, if that’s okay with you.”

“Not before attempting to walk home, I see,” Grantaire noted, nodding towards Enjolras’s snowy shoulders.

“I thought I’d at least try,” he said guiltily. 

“Another attempt at getting hypothermia today.”

“I didn’t want to put you out-”

“Hey, hey. We’re fine with it, aren’t we?” Grantaire asked Whiskey, before he set her down on the floor. “Our home shall be yours for the night.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras sighed in relief. “I mean it.” He stepped further in, past the kitchen counter, and Grantaire saw his grateful smile melt away as he realized he was already in the bedroom, or rather the rest of the tiny studio apartment. There was only a bed facing the tv, and no couch for a guest to sleep on. “It’s, uh, quite cozy, though,” he attempted lightly.

“Yes. Nothing like the Thenardiers’ place, anyway. They knocked down the walls between apartments up there and made themselves a big pen for their family zoo. The rest of us live in our little cages below. It’s not too bad.”

“Not as small as the elevator,” Enjolras said with a pathetic laugh.

“No,” Grantaire agreed. “Thankfully.” 

Enjolras turned to set his bag on the kitchen counter, and knelt down to pull off his shoes, leaving them by the door. He stood there in his socks, hugging himself awkwardly. “There is another favor I’d like to ask, if that’s alright.”

“Ask away,” Grantaire said, leaning on the counter.

“Forgive me if this is an intrusion on your space but...I would really like to take a hot shower, if you don’t mind,” Enjolras asked, biting his lip.

“Oh,” Grantaire waved his hand dismissively. “Of course, it’s no problem. You could use some warming up.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras breathed in relief, unbuttoning his coat.

Grantaire crossed to the bathroom, turning on the light and inspecting to make sure it was clean enough for a guest. Satisfied, he took a fresh towel and returned to Enjolras, handing it over. “Bathroom’s all yours.” 

“Thank you,” Enjolras repeated, taking the towel. “And...and one more thing…”

“Need some pajamas?” Grantaire guessed.

Enjolras smiled sadly and nodded, gesturing down to the bottoms of his pants, soaked wet with snow. “If I haven’t asked too much already.” 

Grantaire shook his head. “You can borrow whatever you need, Enjolras.” He returned to his dresser and took out another pair of pajama pants and a long-sleeved sleep shirt. “Here,” he said, placing the folded clothes on top of the towel in Enjolras’s hands. “Don’t need underwear too, do you?” he asked lightly.

“No,” Enjolras shook his head quickly, reddening. “This is fine, thank you.” With that, he turned and gently closed the bathroom door behind him. It wasn’t long before Grantaire heard the sound of the shower curtain being pulled aside, and the spray of water falling on the tiles.

_Now what?_ Grantaire wondered, attempting to distract himself from the thought that Enjolras, who he had only just met today, was disrobing himself right there in his apartment, on the other side of the door. _Dinner, of course,_ he decided, swallowing nervously. _Dinner it is._

He spent some time staring at his pantry, and opening and closing the fridge a few times in scattered contemplation, before an idea came to mind. Happy with his decision, he brought out the flour and butter, and got a roux going on the stove. When it was ready, he added milk and seasoning for a bechamel sauce, and as it thickened, he laid out bread, ham, and cheese on the counter. He had returned to stirring the sauce when he heard the shower switch off. 

Even over the sounds in the kitchen, he could hear Enjolras let out a satisfied sigh as the shower curtain was pushed aside with a rattle. Grantaire couldn’t help but smile, covering his mouth to keep from letting out an audible laugh, and continued with his task at hand. With the sauce finished, it was time to move on to the next step. He cut generous slices from the loaf of bread, and then laid them out on a sheet pan to assemble the sandwiches. Ham, another slice of bread, and then a ladle of bechamel sauce on each sandwich. He was laying thick slices of Gruyère cheese over them when Enjolras emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam.

His hair was damp, slicked down and combed out. The borrowed clothes were loose, the drawstrings of his pinstriped pants pulled tight, and the way the waistband clung precariously to his hips drew Grantaire’s eye. He looked cozy, a completely new sight with his designer clothes gone and Grantaire’s own well-worn pajamas in their stead.

“What?” Enjolras asked as he met his gaze.

“Oh, it’s just,” Grantaire shook his head dismissively, realizing his cheeks were flushing. “My pajamas have never looked better.”

Enjolras raised his brows, and Grantaire realized a split second later his casual comment was not exactly casual. “I-I mean,” he started, but a cool smile settled on Enjolras’s lips as Grantaire found his words. “I mean-”

“They’re a little big, but they’ll do,” Enjolras interrupted. Then his eyes went to the kitchen counter, and saw the two sandwiches laid on the sheet pan. “You’re making grilled cheese,” he said, dismayed. “Look, it's not the only food that I-“

“It’s not grilled cheese,” Grantaire assured him with a smirk, grateful for the change of subject. “I promise. It’s better. Though I can’t deny the inspiration.”

“Hmph,” Enjolras grunted. “Well...can I help at all?”

“Can you make eggs?” Grantaire asked, as he put the sandwiches in the oven. A worried look came over Enjolras’s face, and Grantaire shook his head before he could answer. “No, it’s alright,” he laughed. “I don’t need any help. You just sit and let me do what I do best,” he said, gesturing to the opposite side of the counter.

Enjolras took a seat at one of the barstools on the other side, resting his chin in his hands. “Thank you,” he said, a little sheepishly. “For making dinner.”

“It’s no problem. As I said, I enjoy cooking for people. Gives me a reason to show off, even if it’s just a sandwich.”

“You don’t have to try too hard,” Enjolras shook his head. “Anything better than my cooking skills is impressive to me.”

“Actually,” Grantaire said as he took out the eggs from the fridge. “I daresay this would be quite easy for you to attempt at home. It’s just a simple upgrade to your regular fare.”

“We’ll see,” Enjolras said doubtfully. Then, after a pause, “What got you into cooking?”

“I suppose it was...how I felt when I cooked for my family,” Grantaire answered, taking out a pan. “I always wanted to help out in the kitchen even when I was little. To see the smiles on my parents’ faces when I brought them something I made. Then, when I was a teenager and my parents were both working, I was the one making dinner for us all after school. And when I dropped out of college, and was having to think about what I really wanted to do, I asked myself what I was even good at. And I realized there _was_ something I was good at, that I had years of experience doing, more than anything else in my life. When I figured that out, I knew it was the right decision, because not only was it close to my heart but something that brought joy to others, too. I love to cook, and I live to serve.”

“Wow,” Enjolras said, seeming a little taken aback. “I wish I was so certain about my life.”

“You aren’t?” Grantaire asked lightly as he cracked two eggs into the pan. “You seemed the type.”

“Well, I…” Enjolras chewed on his lip. “I know what motivates me. How I’ll accomplish that, I’m not sure. With you, you know that once you’re out of cooking school, you’ll be a chef. You don’t know where you’ll be working I suppose but you know it will be some kitchen or another. With me, when I get out of school, I’m not sure where or what exactly I need to do. Do I want to go into government, or do I want to join an organization, or become a public speaker, or...I don’t know,” he shook his head. “I’m still figuring it out. 

“You’ve got plenty of time,” Grantaire remarked, watching the eggs.

“I’m in my last year of school,” Enjolras frowned.

“And you’ve got plenty of time,” Grantaire repeated. “Graduation isn’t the point of no return, you know. You don’t have to have it all figured it out by then. Some people don’t figure things out for another decade or two.”

“Hopefully not me,” Enjolras shifted on his stool, clearly uncomfortable at the thought. “In another decade, I hope to be doing _something_ right with my life.” 

“It seems you’re doing alright right now,” Grantaire commented, looking up at him.

Enjolras’s mouth twitched, but he merely replied with a disgruntled _hmph._

“Don’t worry so much about the destination. It’s the journey, and all that,” Grantaire said placatingly as he carefully poked at the eggs with the spatula. “Now, please tell me you don’t have any dietary restrictions. I’m afraid I’ve made some dangerous assumptions if so.”

Enjolras let out a laugh. “No, I can eat anything. Within reason, anyway.”

“I’d say a sandwich is reasonable,” Grantaire said airly.

“Oh yes, quite reasonable,” Enjolras agreed, mirroring his tone, and Grantaire grinned.

_Why does he have to be cute?_ he thought, forcing himself to turn away and check the oven. The cheese was beginning to bubble nicely under the broiler. “Just a few more minutes,” he promised, lowering the heat on the eggs. He took out two plates and set them on the counter, then found the lettuce and tomatoes and assembled small salads on their plates, drizzling them with balsamic vinaigrette. When he had finished, he checked the oven again to find the cheese had browned up beautifully, and the sandwiches were ready to go.

Taking the pan from the oven, he set a sandwich on each plate, and used his spatula to place a perfectly fried egg on top of each. “There you are,” Grantaire said with satisfaction, pushing a plate across the counter to Enjolras. “Croque madame, monsieur.”

Enjolras looked down at the plate and smiled. “It looks delicious.”

“It will be,” Grantaire promised. “And what will monsieur be drinking tonight? The cabernet, perhaps?”

“Water,” Enjolras corrected.

“An excellent choice,” Grantaire continued, and filled up two glasses at the sink. “Finest in the house.” Taking out silverware from the drawer, he came around the side of the counter to join him at the adjacent stool, handing over a knife and fork. “Bon appetit.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, taking the proffered silverware. Grantaire waited, watching as Enjolras cut himself a piece of the sandwich and raised it up, the melted cheese stretching in gooey strings. Enjolras severed them with his knife and brought the fork to his lips, closing his eyes as he took the first bite. Grantaire felt his breath hitch in anticipation, and then a moment later, Enjolras purred a soft _mmm_ in praise. 

“Good?” Grantaire asked proudly, exhaling in relief.

“Very,” Enjolras agreed, and cut himself another bite, breaking the yolk of his egg and letting it spill over the sandwich.

Satisfied, Grantaire dug into his own meal, all the more enjoyable knowing his guest was pleased with it. They were quiet at first, simply enjoying the meal side by side, as Grantaire contemplated the array of flavors. The savory ham, both sweet and salty; the tang of the cheese, crisp where it had caramelized; the bread, crunchy around the crust and soft where the cream sauce and egg yolk had soaked in. Then there was the complement of the salad, the fresh greens and acidity of the tomatoes, and the bittersweet bite of the balsamic dressing. All together, it was a perfect, comforting meal to eat while they watched the snowfall. 

When Enjolras was halfway through his sandwich, he swallowed a large bite and looked up at Grantaire. “Alright, maybe I’ll have to ask you for the recipe.”

Grantaire grinned. “It’s too bad you were in the shower,” he said, glancing at Enjolras’s drying curls. “I could have taught you how to make it just now.”

“Well, if it’s not too hard-” Enjolras began, but stopped and looked up alertly, startled as he heard a _thump thump thump_ of feet on the ceiling overhead. 

“Gavroche,” Grantaire explained. “Running around.”

“How do you know?” Enjolras asked with a sideways smile. “There’s so many Thenardiers.”

“I assume,” Grantaire shrugged. “Seems about the right weight and speed. Besides, I can’t exactly picture the rest of the family springing around like that, can you?”

“No,” Enjolras agreed with a laugh, shaking his head as he took a bite. 

Grantaire took a sip from his glass of water, and the thumping overhead died away. “So,” he continued, as he set his glass back down. “What do you tutor Gavroche in?”

“French, History, and English.”

“And does he behave for you?”

Enjolras looked upward again in contemplation. “...Mostly,” he decided. “Today was only my third time, but I’m getting to know him better. He’s very cunning, and likes to distract me with changes of subject when he’s bored. He’s actually very smart, he just has trouble studying.”

“Sounds like me,” Grantaire admitted. “I’m a quick learner but studying was my downfall.”

Enjolras eyed the white streak in his hair again. “You don’t have to study in cooking school?” he asked.

“Cooking is different. You learn by doing it yourself, by experimentation and exploration. You touch and taste and smell and engage the senses. Can’t exactly get your hands all over history, can you?”

The corners of Enjolras’s lips twitched up in an intrigued smile. “No, not exactly.”

“And in cooking, you’re rewarded with being able to apply that knowledge to your career, and your everyday life. With academia, does it really matter if you know this or that little factoid about the Battle of Whatever? Why would I need to learn that?”

“It’s the Battle of _Wherever_ , Grantaire. I’d at least expect you to get the name right,” Enjolras chided with a devilish grin. 

Grantaire snorted as he ate the last bite of his sandwich. “Alright, smartass.”

“I understand, really,” Enjolras continued, more sympathetically. “What were you going to school for in the first place? I mean, what did you want to be, before you discovered cooking school?”

“Nothing,” Grantaire answered honestly. “That was the problem. I had no direction save for the fact that that’s what you’re expected to do. I was hoping I’d find myself somewhere along the way. Instead I sort of…lost myself.” He looked down at his empty plate in contemplation, thinking back to when classes and lectures blended together, when no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t seem to focus, when he spent late nights agonizing over text he couldn’t seem to commit to memory.

“But you did find yourself. Maybe you just had to lose yourself first,” Enjolras offered.

Grantaire nodded in resignation. “I suppose so.” He slipped off the bar stool and picked up their empty plates, going around the counter to get to the sink. 

“Let me,” Enjolras said quickly, hopping off his stool. “I’ll take care of the dishes, it’s the least I can do.”

Grantaire raised his brows as he set the dishes in the sink, but then relented. “Have at it. I’ll dry.”

One by one, Enjolras washed the plates, the silverware, the pot, and the pan, handing each over in turn to Grantaire to wipe them down with a kitchen towel. There was something so calming, so satisfying about performing such a simple, domestic task side by side that Grantaire quite forgot that he had only just met the boy wearing his pajamas that morning. If one didn’t know better, it might have looked like they had been a couple for years.

Grantaire was smiling to himself as Enjolras handed over the pan, the last one left to dry. What?” Enjolras inquired curiously at his expression.

“Oh, just you and me, playing house. For a moment I forgot we were strangers, just a few hours ago.”

Enjolras looked up at him, his cheeks twinged with pink. “Me too,” he admitted with a small smile, and Grantaire’s grew wider.

“So what now?” he asked as he wiped off the pan and put it away, everything back in its rightful place. “Some TV perhaps?”

“Oh, whatever you want is fine,” Enjolras replied with a shake of his head. “I’m just going to be on my phone for a bit. Check my messages, you know.”

“Of course.” Grantaire left the kitchen and flopped down on the bed on the other side of the room, grabbing the remote off the nightstand. As he was flipping through the channels, he noticed Enjolras still standing there in the kitchen looking at him uncertainly. He beckoned him with a tilt of his head. “Come join me if you want. When I have company we all pile up here on the bed to watch TV. Besides, if you’re gonna sleep here, you might as well make yourself comfortable. There’s plenty of room.”

Enjolras nodded, looking relieved at the invitation, and came over to the bed, sitting down on the other side and lying back tentatively, as if he were testing the mattress. Finding it satisfactory, he relaxed and took out his phone, curling up on his side.

Grantaire found the cooking channel, turning down the volume to a soft murmur and lying back on the pillow. He glanced idly over at Enjolras, hoping the show wouldn’t bother him. He was texting away it seemed, smiling slightly at his screen. _Stuck with strange man who tried to get my number, send help,_ Grantaire imagined him typing. The thought made him almost laugh with embarrassment, and he looked back to the TV screen, keeping his eyes forward to curb his curiosity. 

“Do you have other interests besides food?” 

“Hm?” he turned again to see Enjolras eyeing him over his shoulder with a smirk. Grantaire blushed and quickly flipped to the next channel. A travel show featuring a tropical island beach. “Any better?” he asked sheepishly.

“I didn’t say you had to change it,” Enjolras said airly, rolling his shoulder in a shrug as he turned back to his phone.

Grantaire looked back to the screen, watching as the camera panned over the rich blue waters and the sparkling sands, while the snow still fell outside the darkened windows. _Wouldn’t that be nice,_ he thought dreamily, imagining himself on that beach, lying on a towel in the sand… and there, Enjolras lay stretched out beside him, smiling lazily as he turned the pages of a beach read in his hands, sunglasses perched in his golden hair. Grantaire closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun, and the smell of salt on the ocean breeze. It was paradise, a getaway for the two of them from the storm, and the snow, and-

Grantaire opened his eyes with a start, realizing he had been asleep and dreaming for some time. The TV had woken him, a disruptive commercial coming on. He turned to check on Enjolras there beside him, and saw him, eyes closed, the phone limp in his hand. His chest rose and fell softly, rhythmically. Grantaire found the remote and switched off the TV, rising up slowly from the bed. He reached over and gently took the phone from Enjolras’s fingers, plugging it into the phone charger beside the nightstand. He couldn’t help but see the unread notification on screen as it lit up. 

_**Courf:** So what’s he like???_

Grantaire stood frozen for a moment before the phone eventually dimmed, and the light was gone again. _So he really was talking about me?_ he wondered, before shaking his head. Even if it was about him, it was only natural to tell a friend where he had gone for the night. With that concluded, he pulled the blankets up over his guest, tucking him in, before heading into the bathroom for a shower. 

Grantaire stood under the water, heat relieving his limbs sore from a day stuck on the floor of an elevator. As he picked up the bar of soap, he imagined it passing over Enjolras’s skin just a bit ago, gliding over his lithe arms and legs. Grantaire felt himself flush at the thought, ashamed for thinking about it. Thankfully he pushed it from his mind, and was able to step out of the shower a few minutes later without any other guilty thoughts. Picking up his hairbrush though, he couldn’t help but smirk as he plucked a single blonde hair from the bristles before he ran it through his wet curls. 

When he came back out into the main room, clean and dry and teeth brushed, he saw Enjolras still curled up under the covers, back to him and facing the window. Grantaire switched off the lights, and noticed the snowfall had stopped, leaving a stillness of velvety blue night outside. He crept over to the bed, padding softly across the wooden floor, and carefully pulled back the blanket. The bed creaked as he settled down on it, but the sound quickly died as he lay still, his back to Enjolras. He exhaled in relief as the silence fell again, grateful it seemed he hadn’t caused too much of a disturbance getting back into bed.

Then, there was a gentle shifting of sheets, and Grantaire felt a finger lightly grazing his spine, right between his shoulder blades. Surprised by the touch, he looked over his shoulder to see Enjolras, vague in the darkness, facing him now with eyes open. “Did I wake you up?” Grantaire asked guiltily. 

“Yes, but I don’t care,” Enjolras admitted softly. 

“Sorry,” he apologized anyway, turning over to face Enjolras. “You warm enough?”

“Mhm,” Enjolras nodded against his pillow. “You?”

Grantaire huffed out a soft laugh at the guest checking in on his host. “Why, yes. I just took a hot shower, thank you.”

“Mm,” Enjolras replied. He sounded tired, and yet his eyes remained open, watching Grantaire.

“...You want to talk?” Grantaire asked after a pause, gazing curiously back. 

“Mhm,” Enjolras nodded. He was silent again for a moment, then, “Do you consider yourself a shallow person, Grantaire?”

Grantaire was taken aback, his mouth opening and closing in a silent stammer before he finally answered. “No, I don’t…” He was unsure why Enjolras had asked such a question, until he remembered what had first transpired between them earlier that day. How he had considered that very thought himself when he was at the grocery store. “I-I don’t make a habit of asking out boys in elevators, you know,” he amended. “Or anywhere else for that matter. I didn’t ask for your number just because I thought you were...well...I mean, it wasn’t because I’m shallow or anything,” Grantaire swallowed, tripping over his words trying to explain. 

“Oh?” Enjolras asked lightly. 

“I mean, y-you _are_ beautiful,” Grantaire managed, the darkness giving him courage to say so. “But that wasn’t the only thing I saw in you.”

“And what else did you see, in those two minutes we had together before you popped the question?” Enjolras said dreamily, clearly testing him. 

Grantaire felt his cheeks grow warm, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. “Well…” He let out a breath in contemplation. “I saw that you were a kind and generous person, and cared about kids, when you told me you were coming here to tutor Gavroche. And…and so I knew you were intelligent too, that you care about school. That you were a responsible college student and-” 

He was interrupted by a snort from Enjolras. Grantaire looked over, surprised. “What?”

“You’re already so wrong,” Enjolras shook his head.

“You...you aren’t any of those things?” Grantaire asked doubtfully.

“Oh, I’d like to think I’m kind and intelligent and all that, and I care about school but...your basis is...very off base.”

“I don’t understand.”

“My community service isn’t voluntary, you see,” Enjolras said slowly.

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “School requirements?”

“...Try court-ordered.”

There was a silence as the words sunk in. Then Grantaire almost couldn’t help himself, and his lips twisted to the side in amusement. He wasn’t sure if Enjolras could read his expression in the dark.

“Not the picture-perfect student you thought I was, huh?” Enjolras asked, seeming to relish the reveal. “What do you think of that?”

Grantaire let out a soft laugh. “I’m _intrigued,_ ” he said smoothly. “I admit you’re far more interesting now.”

Enjolras tsked, as if he were annoyed he hadn’t scared Grantaire off. “Criminals your type, then?”

Grantaire smirked. “Criminal,” he repeated. “I’m dying to know what sort of crimes a boy like you gets himself involved in.”

“Oh? Why don’t you guess?” Enjolras was staring intently at him, and it seemed he might have been grinning, though it was too dark to tell. 

“Let’s see...an educated guess would be that you shoplifted those designer duds you’re so fond of,” Grantaire offered, grinning back.

“No,” Enjolras replied loftily. “I’ll have you know I pay for everything I own.”

“Alright, so you’ve got money. But maybe…maybe that’s the crime itself. Maybe you got caught running a little business to earn that money. Picture-perfect student gets busted peddling pills to his peers.” 

Enjolras shook his head against the pillow. “Nope, no. No drugs. I need my prescriptions for _myself,_ if I haven’t made that obvious enough.”

“Hmmm. You ran a scheme selling essays-”

“There was no business. And I don’t think doing other people’s homework is a criminal offense.” 

“Plagiarism?” Grantaire reminded him.

“ _I_ wouldn’t be the one committing plagiarism if I were the one writing the essays,” Enjolras countered. “But no. None of your guesses are even close.” 

“...I don’t really see you as a violent offender...” Grantaire pondered uncertainly, staring up at the ceiling again. 

“I wasn’t one,” Enjolras said shortly. “Why don’t you use what you actually know about me?”

Grantaire paused, chewing his lip in contemplation, thinking back to their time in the elevator and all the topics they had gone over together. Interests. Goals. Ambitions. “...Political,” he finally stated. “It was something political. ...Some sort of illegal activism.”

Enjolras nodded. “That’s right.” 

“Why don’t you go ahead and tell me the story?” Grantaire asked, closing his eyes.

“A couple months ago, in the middle of the night, my friends and I snuck out of the dorms and spent five hours on a rather impressive anti-fascist mural on the outer wall of our school library. Then we knocked down the statue standing in front of it depicting one of the late founders of our school, who happened to be a rather proud and notorious bigot.” There was an underlying anger in Enjolras’s tired voice. 

“You did good,” Grantaire praised appreciatively. “Is the mural still there?”

“Of course not. They painted over it, and the statue was unfortunately righted, though thankfully not before the student body managed to snap plenty of photos of our work. It was everywhere online, in the news even. We all got charged with vandalism, of course. Fines and community service. It could have been worse I suppose, but there were so many of us, and nobody gave away there was a ringleader.”

“Why do I have a feeling it was you?” Grantaire asked suspiciously.

“Oh, it was,” Enjolras said as a point of pride. 

“How did your parents feel about all this?” 

“They were livid, of course. Told me I was lucky I hadn’t been expelled.”

“I’m surprised you _weren’t_ expelled,” Grantaire commented. 

“Expelling that many tuition-paying legacy students? I don’t think so. They threatened to, but we all got a two-week suspension instead, on top of our court-ordered sentences.”

“Wow,” Grantaire said, pondering over the whole thing.

“I don’t regret it,” Enjolras added. “At least, I don’t think I do. We’ll see. My parents said I’ll be lucky if I haven’t ruined my career after this.”

“I should think that something like this could only _help_ a career in politics. Think of the stories you could tell in your interviews. You’d do anything for what you believe in.”

“Even breaking the law?” Enjolras said, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s something I can claim as one of my better qualities. It’s the kind of thing that- _Grantaire!!"_ Enjolras suddenly yelped, his body curling up protectively. 

“What!?” Grantaire gasped, sitting up in surprise. His eyes darted around for the source of the disturbance, and saw the dark shape of the cat running across the floor in fright. “Did…Whiskey scare you?” 

“I thought that was _you,_ ” Enjolras grumbled into the pillow, hiding his face in humiliation. “She jumped on me or something...”

“She’s probably wondering why there’s someone in her spot,” Grantaire said, gently putting a hand down on Enjolras’s back and scritching him playfully. “You alright?”

“Yes,” Enjolras turned back over, his voice no longer muffled as he came up for air. “Just startled, that’s all. Um…wh-what were we talking about again?” 

“Your criminal activities?” Grantaire reminded him, lying back on the pillow again.

“Ah. Yeah,” Enjolras sighed, letting out a long breath.

“Listen, Enjolras. If I were…” Grantaire paused, wondering what to say without embarrassing himself. “If I were someone in your life,” he decided on, “I would be very proud of what you’ve done.”

“...Really?”

“Yes. I think that what you and your friends did was the right thing to do. The right thing to stand up for. Even if the law says otherwise.”

“...Thank you,” Enjolras said softly. “That means a lot to me, really. Sometimes I second guess myself, wondering if I’ve made some terrible mistake. ...I don’t think my parents like who I’ve become.”

Grantaire shook his head. “You are who you are. If they don’t like it, they have to learn to live with that. It’s not for them to decide who you are, or who you’re going to be. Only you.”

“And what about you?” Enjolras, to Grantaire’s surprise, reached out and gently stroked his fingers over Grantaire’s hair, right across his streak of grey, his souvenir from his time at university. Enjolras must have been able to see it, even with only the dim light from the windows upon them. “How did your family feel, when you dropped out of school?”

“They weren’t happy,” Grantaire said, watching Enjolras. His heart began to beat faster, though he willed himself to keep still as Enjolras idly ran his fingers through his hair. “They wanted me to get my degree and become someone important. A doctor, a lawyer, a businessman. Anything that made a lot of money, really. When I dropped out it was like I was crushing their dreams, the way they acted. But it wasn’t my dream. And they couldn’t see how trying to make me into someone else was crushing _me_.” 

“They couldn’t see?” Enjolras countered, playing with the white strands in Grantaire’s hair. “The proof is right here.”

“I know,” Grantaire sighed, closing his eyes and enjoying the touch.

“Speaking of which, is there a reason you don’t dye it?” Enjolras asked curiously.

“Believe it or not, I like it,” Grantaire said proudly. “It gives me flavor. A dish isn’t complete without a little salt and pepper, you know.” 

“A dish, huh? Are you edible?” Enjolras asked.

“Taste me and find out,” Grantaire replied teasingly.

Then with a rustle of sheets, Enjolras leaned in, and Grantaire suddenly found himself being kissed. His heart jumped in his chest, and he almost smiled against Enjolras’s lips as the moment sunk in. Instead, he kept still, closing his eyes as he let out a soft breath, and kissed him back, a tentative, curious meeting of their lips. It was fleeting, and as Enjolras pulled back, Grantaire raised his head to keep contact for just a moment longer, before they broke apart. Enjolras didn’t move away though, simply looking down at Grantaire as he lay draped over him.

“Well?” Grantaire asked softly, opening his eyes.

“What?” Enjolras replied in confusion.

Grantaire smirked. “How do I taste?” he pressed. “Sweet, salty, savory?’ 

Enjolras laughed in embarrassment. “All of the above,” he said dismissively, shaking his head.

“Good to know,” Grantaire said, reaching up to brush away a lock of hair that had fallen in front of Enjolras’s face. 

“A-and what about me?” Enjolras asked shyly. “You’re the expert here.”

“Oh…” Grantaire smiled, his fingers grazing across Enjolras’s cheek. “I’m going to have to sample a little more than that before I can say for sure.” 

Enjolras stared down at him coolly, then, decisively, leaned in once more. This time Grantaire was ready, his hand guiding Enjolras’s face to his as their lips met. The kiss was gentle at first, close mouthed, almost chaste in its delicacy, before Grantaire sucked Enjolras’s lower lip into his mouth, nibbling on it playfully. He heard Enjolras’s intake of breath, a soft gasp, and Grantaire knew that he wasn’t used to being kissed. But he didn’t pull back, and instead teethed him in return, following Grantaire’s lead.

Enjolras settled against him, lying over Grantaire’s chest, and through the soft material of their t-shirts Grantaire could feel his heartbeat. It was racing, pounding with excitement, and the rush he could feel within Enjolras encouraged him. He grasped the back of Enjolras’s borrowed shirt and kissed him more, slipping his tongue between his lips to taste within. Enjolras opened his mouth more to let Grantaire in, and when Grantaire coaxed him playfully, swiping his tongue inside, Enjolras responded in turn.

They spent several moments locked together before Enjolras finally pulled back, the two of them both panting to catch their breath. Grantaire laughed softly, feeling giddy, and Enjolras rested his chin on his hand, his elbow propped on Grantaire’s chest. “Well?” he asked, feigning impatience. 

It took Grantaire a moment to realize that Enjolras was echoing his previous question. “Hmmm…” He looked up at Enjolras, his features dimmed and softened by the darkness. “In my professional opinion, you taste like…” _What_ does _he taste like?_ “...like nothing I’ve ever had before. Like comfort on a cold night, but with a kick of spice and heat, something new and unexpected…sumptuous and sensual, and almost indescribable. That must be what beautiful stranger tastes like.”

“Am I still simply a stranger?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire let out an embarrassed laugh, pleasantly surprised by Enjolras’s indignance. “Well,” he reasoned, trying to save face. “The boy that’s here in bed with me doesn’t seem that much like the boy I first met in the elevator so many hours ago.”

“We’re the same person. I’m just more complicated than you thought. First impressions don’t mean much now, do they?”

“...I suppose not,” Grantaire admitted. “You thought I was a different sort of person, too.”

Enjolras simply nodded, idly biting his lip in contemplation.

“And how about now? Has your opinion improved? Have I been a good host?” Grantaire asked hopefully. 

“I suppose,” Enjolras answered. “Though...there is something else you could do for me…”

“Whatever you need,” Grantaire replied.

“...You said you practice the art of indulgence?”

“Certainly.”

Enjolras leaned in. “Indulge me.” 

He took Grantaire’s face in his hands, his fingers sliding into his hair as their lips met once again. Grantaire closed his eyes, enjoying every touch and yet so pleasantly confused, wondering what had spawned such a change in Enjolras. His once cautious demeanor had been replaced by some sort of nocturnal creature, curious and eager...not that Grantaire wanted to object to such an interesting transition.

He reached down beneath the blankets, his fingers grazing over the old flannel pajama pants he had lent Enjolras, and firmly clamped a hand down over his ass. He pulled, urging him over, and Enjolras obliged, raising up enough to hike his leg over and straddle Grantaire properly without even breaking their kiss. He settled back down over him, and Grantaire felt Enjolras’s arousal pressing between them. Grantaire groaned in approval, giving Enjolras’s ass a squeeze, and Enjolras squirmed in turn, rubbing himself against Grantaire’s belly as he attempted to continue their kiss.

But Grantaire knew there was more to indulging Enjolras than making out. He reached up, taking Enjolras’s chin in his hand, and turned it, breaking their kiss. Enjolras had no time to protest before Grantaire’s mouth was on his neck, giving him a gentle bite before caressing his tongue over the tender skin. Enjolras gasped, stiffening in surprise, before exhaling in a huff. “G-grantaire,” he reprimanded, squirming, but at the next bite he let out a helpless moan, his hips pressing harder into Grantaire’s belly. 

Grantaire, with his arm around Enjolras, began to roll, intending to flip him over so he could be on top, but Enjolras suddenly pressed his hands to Grantaire’s shoulders, pinning him firmly back down onto the bed. Grantaire, taken aback, looked up to meet his eyes, and through the darkness he could see Enjolras’s determined gaze, his stare a silent, stern request to stay put as he rolled his hips against him. Grantaire blinked, then his lips curled up in a half smile. Whatever Enjolras wanted to try, it was alright with him. “You really come alive in the dark,” he purred. “Committing crimes and kissing boys. I never would have guessed when I met you.”

“Believe me, it’s...a surprise to me, too,” Enjolras said, his composure fading as he rode Grantaire. “I...I can’t exactly say what’s come over me...or what this is I’m feeling.” 

“What are you feeling?” Grantaire whispered encouragingly. 

“I...I feel like…” Enjolras seemed to be struggling with what he wanted to say, then he shook his head dismissively. “Like I want more, and…and...” 

“And kissing was only just the appetizer?” Grantaire asked playfully. 

Enjolras’s hips stopped abruptly, and he began to laugh. “Are you sure you think about anything other than food?” 

“Of course. There are plenty of other ways to occupy my mouth right now,” Grantaire said cheekily.

Enjolras’s eyes widened, his smile falling away as he stared down at him in silent surprise.

Grantaire was suddenly nervous, wondering if he had ruined the mood. “I-I mean-”

“Would you?” Enjolras interrupted in a whisper, waiting intently for an answer.

“...Go down on you? Absolutely,” Grantaire replied, his heart pounding. “If you were up for it.”

“Oh, I’m up for it,” Enjolras breathed out distractedly as he raised up on his knees, edging forward. 

“Alright,” Grantaire replied, pleasantly surprised by this sudden turn. His fingers went to the waistband of Enjolras’s pajama pants, and he heard him draw in a shaking breath as his thumb brushed his erection through the fabric. “You sure?” Grantaire asked cautiously. 

Enjolras nodded, staring down patiently as he knelt over him. 

Grantaire complied, pulling the waistband down to free Enjolras’s arousal, and as he pulled the flannel down he gently pushed on his thighs, easing him down to sit on his chest. The pressure of his body came down on his sternum, shortening his breath, but Grantaire felt such a rush of adrenaline he didn’t mind. He thought he felt lighter, even, as the space between them closed.

It was hard to see in the darkness, with Enjolras’s shadow looming over him, but he did not need his eyes to guide him. He slowly raised his head, eyes closing as he leaned in, and felt the tip of his nose brush up against Enjolras’s cock. He smiled to himself as he heard a sharp intake of breath above him, then drew his nose up the length of the shaft until he reached the tip, and kissed it softly.

“Ohh,” Enjolras breathed out, shifting subtly over Grantaire's chest, tense with anticipation.

Grantaire’s hands rested on Enjolras’s thighs, his fingers spread over the soft flannel, and he squeezed playfully in reply.

“Go on,” Enjolras whispered encouragingly, his back arching to offer himself more readily. 

Grantaire opened his mouth, about to continue, when he paused and thought better of it. Instead, he let go of Enjolras, reaching to prop up the pillow behind him. Then he lay back, his head supported by the pillow, and slid his hands around the back of Enjolras’s thighs. In one quick motion he tugged, pulling Enjolras roughly toward him.

“Ah!” Enjolras fell forward in surprise, grasping the bars of Grantaire’s headboard to catch himself. 

_Sorry,_ Grantaire thought. _Just wanted to get comfortable._ Without a word though, he parted his lips and took Enjolras into his mouth, his hands guiding Enjolras’s hips to ease him in. 

Enjolras inhaled sharply, and tried to speak, though his words seemed to fail him. “Uh...I...ah...”

_Shhh,_ Grantaire thought in amusement, though he wasn’t exactly in a position to reply.

He started slow, his hands gently pushing Enjolras’s hips back, and pulling him in again, his mouth relaxed, his tongue lazily pressing against the underside of Enjolras’s cock. His skin tasted warm, a little bit of salt, and savory, and Grantaire closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation on his tongue. Enjolras remained still, allowing Grantaire to move him back and forth, though he was trembling slightly beneath Grantaire’s fingers. 

_What a sight we must make,_ he thought. The two of them, fully clothed in pajamas save for Enjolras’s ass sticking up and out, and his cock buried in Grantaire’s mouth. Imagining how they looked together made him groan with pleasure, and in turn the vibration of his mouth made Enjolras quite vocal as well, his breath spilling out in soft, stuttering huffs. Encouraged, Grantaire added in a new layer of motion, slowly nodding his head in rhythm as he guided Enjolras in and out again, and every now and then he gave a little tease with the flick of his tongue.

“Y-yes…yes,” Enjolras groaned. “Mmm, you…hnnn...youuu...”

“Grantaire,” he reminded him as he pulled back for breath, before taking him back in again.

“G-Grantaire, yes, Grantaire,” Enjolras panted out, latching onto his name. “I _know,_ I know-ahh!” he yelped as Grantaire grabbed his bare ass with both hands.

_Even if you do forget my name,_ Grantaire mused as his mouth moved over Enjolras, _I know I’ll never forget you._ He didn’t know what it was that had changed between them. He didn’t know if it was a need for release after all the stress of the day, or a sudden whim of Enjolras’s darker nature, but somehow a switch had flipped inside him that made him crave Grantaire’s attentions. And though he didn’t even know if he would even see Enjolras ever again, Grantaire was content simply having this one unexpected moment of intimacy with the angel he had fallen for in the elevator that morning.

And oh, how that angel could sing. It didn’t take long for Grantaire to find exactly how to elicit the most delicious moan from Enjolras’s lips, and make him grip the bars of the bed even tighter. He was easy to please, every nerve heightened under the influence of Grantaire’s skilled tongue. But when it became too much, Enjolras stopped holding back, rolling his hips to eagerly thrust into Grantaire’s mouth. Grantaire, knowing he was close, relaxed his mouth and let Enjolras take control.

“Gr-Grantaire,” Enjolras panted, his forehead pressed up against the bars, bracing himself against the bed.

“Mmhmm…” Grantaire answered back, his reply rumbling low in his throat, vibrating around Enjolras’s cock as it pushed desperately between his lips.

“I…oh...Gr… _Grantaire!”_

Grantaire’s fingernails suddenly bit into the soft flesh of Enjolras’s ass as he gripped him in place, feeling Enjolras’s cock pulsing within his mouth, and kept him still as he shuddered and came, crying out his name once more. 

“Grantaaaire…”

And then, it was over. Enjolras was panting as Grantaire slowly loosened his grip upon him, gently guiding him back out of his mouth. Enjolras released the headboard and slid limply down beside him, exhausted. Grantaire licked his lips, still tasting the salt on his tongue, and sat up to catch his breath. Though his heart was racing, and his cock was still hard, he felt a strange, blissful sense of calm wash over him as he lay beside Enjolras.

After a moment of recovery, Enjolras raised his head. “Do you…do you mind if I...if I um...” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the bathroom. “Clean up, real quick,” he managed sheepishly.

“No, of course not,” Grantaire waved dismissively. “Go right ahead.” 

Enjolras clambered up off the bed, gripping his pants and holding them up as he did so, before disappearing into the bathroom. The door closed behind him, and soon Grantaire heard the sink running as Enjolras attended to himself. Grantaire stood up to stretch, then headed to the kitchen. He filled up a glass of water and stood leaning against the counter, sipping slowly and savoring as the taste of Enjolras faded from his tongue. 

When the bathroom door opened again, Enjolras stood there uncertainly, silhouetted by the soft yellow light behind him. “Water?” Grantaire offered, filling the glass again and holding it out.

Enjolras nodded and came to him, taking the water tentatively. “Thank you,” he said, his voice a bit hoarse, and drank it down. He handed the glass back, clearing his throat. “You know I haven’t been in this situation before, so I’m not sure if I’m supposed to, um...” He paused, biting his lip, his eyes moving down past Grantaire’s waistline. “Do you want me to return the-”

“Oh, no,” Grantaire interrupted, saving him the trouble of offering, shaking his head. 

Enjolras looked up at him with what seemed like relief. 

“I’m fine, really,” Grantaire assured him, his own erection having subsided. “Just listening to you enjoy yourself was enough of a treat.” 

Enjolras turned his face away in embarrassment, his hand going to his forehead. “Honestly I don’t really know what came over me. I was not expecting… _that._ ”

“Neither was I, but it was a good time,” Grantaire said with a grin.

“I didn’t know I was even capable of being like that,” Enjolras continued as if he hadn’t heard him. 

The smile faded from Grantaire’s face, recognizing the anxious tone in his voice. “Enjolras, hey…” He gently took hold of Enjolras’s chin, making him look back up at him. “Don’t you dare start feeling any guilt.”

Enjolras kept still, simply meeting his gaze, his brows knitted in concern.

“There’s nothing wrong with you wanting to feel good. And I wanted to help you feel good. Nothing else matters. So don’t stand there thinking you’ve gone and done something crazy with someone you’ve just met. Crazier things have already happened today,” Grantaire chided with a smile as he let go of him, and despite himself, Enjolras gently smiled back. “Besides,” Grantaire added playfully, “I really think you should embrace this wild child alter ego you’ve got going on at night.” 

Enjolras huffed in exasperation, though he smiled wider. “It’s already gotten me in trouble,” he reminded Grantaire.

“I like a little mischief,” Grantaire purred, pulling him into his arms and nosing him. Enjolras seemed to resist at first, but then he sighed, and relaxed, resting his forehead against Grantaire’s. “Trust me,” Grantaire continued, his voice softer. “This certainly isn’t a typical night for me either. But…I’m just...I’m just really glad we got stuck together.” 

Enjolras let out another breath, seemingly at a loss for words. _And you?_ Grantaire prompted in his mind, suddenly feeling self-conscious in the silence. _Are you glad you got stuck with me, too?_ But then he felt Enjolras’s lips upon his, and they were kissing in the middle of his kitchen, arms around each other, and the doubt left his mind. 

When Enjolras pulled back, he gently put his fingers to Grantaire’s mouth, tracing them over his lips with a thoughtful expression. Grantaire knew that he was still thinking about where that mouth had been, and what it had done, only moments ago. Grantaire smiled against his fingers. “Alright?” he asked softly.

Enjolras nodded, then gave a tired smile in return. “Yes, I’m alright,” he agreed. “Thank you.”

“Good. Now, if you don’t mind, perhaps we go back to bed and actually sleep this time,” Grantaire teased. 

“Sounds good to me.”

With that, they drifted back to the bed, Grantaire pausing to switch off the bathroom light before joining Enjolras. As he slipped under the covers and lay back, Enjolras drew close beside him, and lay his arm lightly over his chest. Grantaire rested his hand on Enjolras’s, and closed his eyes. “Goodnight,” he murmured contendedly. 

“Mmm, mhm,” Enjolras agreed, already fading off. 

_Thump! Thump! Thump!_

Grantaire stirred. He knew without opening his eyes the familiar sound of Gavroche Thenardier thundering about overhead, a familiar morning alarm. Beneath his hand, he felt a gentle vibration, and buried his fingers into fur, finding a purring Whiskey curled up against him. He slowly opened his eyes to the daylight, blinking softly, and saw a figure in a scarlet coat sitting at the window seat, blonde hair haloed by the morning sun. It all came back to him, the long, memorable, and surprisingly real day and night they had spent together. None of it had been a dream.

Enjolras had raided Grantaire’s bookshelf, with books stacked beside him and one on his lap. He was paging through it slowly, unaware he was being watched. Grantaire recognized the volume as one of his art books, a colorful, glossy collection of nineteenth century paintings.

“See?” Grantaire said lazily from the bed, his voice rough. “I have interests other than what goes into my mouth.”

Enjolras looked up, his cheeks turning pink. “Good morning,” he replied, ignoring Grantaire's comment. “I was waiting for you to get up.” He closed the book and gently laid it on the stack beside him.

“Oh?” Grantaire asked, his eyes opening more attentively.

“It seems the streets and sidewalks are getting cleaned up,” he said, gesturing behind him out the window. “The storm wasn’t too bad, after all. The plows went by a while ago. It looks like it’s probably safe for me to head home. I just didn’t want to leave without...well, I didn’t want to leave before you woke up.”

“O-oh, sorry,” Grantaire said in realization, sitting up. Whiskey slid out of his arms, stretching and repositioning herself at the end of the bed to begin her grooming routine. “You could have woken me up,” he added apologetically.

“No, no, I wanted to wait a bit, just in case. But now that it’s almost nine, I’m sure most of the sidewalks have been cleared. I think I’m good to go.” His coat was already buttoned up, his bag beside him. “Thank you for charging my phone.”

“Do you want breakfast, or anything?” Grantaire asked, untangling himself from the sheets to get out of bed. 

“Oh, no, please. I’ve eaten enough of your food already,” Enjolras shook his head, “I shouldn’t take advantage of your hospitality anymore.”

“It’s no trouble-”

“No,” Enjolras insisted firmly, standing up and slipping his bag over his shoulder. “It’s time for me to go home. I’ve got schoolwork that I should have done yesterday, I want to change clothes, I...I want to brush my teeth,” he added with a pained smile.

“Oh, of course,” Grantaire nodded, one hand trying in vain to brush his wild morning hair out of his face. “I don’t mean to keep you any longer. Please,” he said, gesturing to the door and heading over.

“Thank you,” Enjolras said with relief, following him there. “I put your pajamas in the laundry basket in the bathroom.”

“That’s perfect.”

“And thank you for everything, dinner, your clothes, letting me shower and sleep here,” Enjolras continued as they reached the door.

“It’s no problem. Happy to do so,” Grantaire replied.

Enjolras nodded, his hand gripping the strap of his bag. He looked uncertain, and there was a pause between them. 

Grantaire felt his pulse accelerate, suddenly realizing that this was it. Enjolras had no reason to come back now, unless Grantaire gave him one. _What do I say? What do I do? A kiss goodbye? A hug?_ “Um-“

“Well-“ Enjolras said at the same time, and then laughed awkwardly. He took hold of the door knob and pushed it open, stepping out into the hallway.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, placing a hand on the door frame, his heart beating faster. “It-it wouldn’t be too forward of me to ask for your number now, would it?”

Enjolras looked up at him, his lips curling up into a smile. Then he wrinkled his nose, bit his lip, and shook his head. “Go make yourself breakfast, Grantaire,” he said dismissively, still smiling, and with that he turned and headed for the door to the stairwell. 

Grantaire stared blankly after him, his heart falling right into his stomach. He had thought, this time, he had a chance. And yet, he shouldn’t have expected anything different. Even after all the time they had spent together, Enjolras didn’t owe him anything. He had told him before he didn’t date, and that was that.

Enjolras pushed open the door to the stairs, turning to look back at Grantaire one last time. He gave a little wave of his hand, then slipped through and was gone, leaving Grantaire standing dumbfounded in his apartment doorway.

_Of course it was too good to last,_ he thought sadly, slumping against the doorframe. 

_What was it you thought last night?_ the voice in his head hissed jeeringly. _That you’d be content even if it was just for one night?_

_There’s a difference between thinking that, and actually feeling it,_ he answered himself.

“Mrow?” Whiskey appeared at his feet, rubbing herself against his leg. 

“Alright,” Grantaire conceded with a sigh, straightening up and following her to the kitchen, letting the door close behind him. “Let’s get some food.”

As he passed the fridge, reaching to open the cabinet beside it, something caught his eye. He paused, and saw something red scrawled upon the notepad magnetized to the fridge. _I don’t have a red pen,_ was his first thought, and he leaned in for a better look. Scrawled across the pad was a series of numbers. It took him longer than it should to realize what he was seeing. _Go make yourself breakfast, Grantaire._ Here waiting for him on the fridge was Enjolras’s phone number. “Cheeky,” he said out loud, shaking his head and smiling despite himself, as his heart jumped back up into his chest.

Without hesitation he dove for his phone to enter his new contact, so ecstatic his fingers were nearly shaking. When it was saved, he paused in thought, knowing he wanted to send his own number back right away. His mind flitted from joke to joke, trying to think of something witty that might earn him a quick reply. Instead though, he settled on a simple, practical question. 

_When is your next session with Gavroche?_

It was only a couple seconds before he heard the phone chime in response. No, that wasn’t right. The sound hadn’t come from his phone, he hadn’t been texted back yet. It had come from near the window. 

Confused, he crossed the room, and as his eyes darted around he spotted the source. There next to the stack of books on the window seat was Enjolras’s phone, left behind once again. Grantaire scooped it up, staring wide-eyed at the notification of his own text on Enjolras’s screen. For a moment, he was frozen to the spot, a phone in each hand.

Then suddenly, he dropped his own phone and took off running, bursting through the apartment door without stopping to lock it as it swung shut behind him. He threw his weight up against the door to the stairwell, shoving it open, and then flew to the railing, head hanging over the side. “Enjolras!! Enjolrasss!!” he shouted, his voice echoing down through the center of the stairwell, bouncing off the walls. 

A pause as the sound receded, and then, past flight after flight of steps and railings, he saw a blonde head poke out from far down below, looking up curiously. 

“You forgot something!” Grantaire called, one hand clutching the railing as he leaned over the side, the other holding the phone aloft, waving it for visibility.

A gasp from down below, and suddenly the stairwell was filled with the frantic echoes of Enjolras’s footsteps as he took off running back up the stairs. Without hesitation, Grantaire followed suit, his bare feet slapping on the metal steps as he ran down in his pajamas to meet him. The stairwell was alive with noise as he hurried down and around, and down and around again, skipping steps two at a time as he made his way down the spiral of flights.

He was panting, his speed flagging, when finally he rounded another corner, and there was Enjolras directly below him. They both stopped in their tracks, the relief clear on Enjolras’s face as he paused to take a breath, gripping the railing to steady himself. Grantaire smiled dizzily, holding out the phone as he took a few more steps down toward him. “Breaking...your resolution...already?” he managed between breaths.

Enjolras shook his head in disbelief, ascending a few more steps to meet him. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You know, if you had just given me your number at the door, we could have avoided this,” Grantaire teased. He was standing two stairs above him, looking down on him with a smirk as he reached to place the phone in Enjolras’s outstretched hand.

Enjolras snatched up the phone gratefully, almost cradling it to his chest. “Well you found it, didn’t you?” he asked exasperatedly, leaving Grantaire unsure whether he meant the phone or the number left coyly on his fridge. Enjolras glanced down at his phone screen, then back up at Grantaire. “Tuesday,” he said simply.

“Hm?” Grantaire cocked his head.

“Gavroche’s next session,” Enjolras explained, taking another step closer to Grantaire, “is Tuesday. Are you free that evening?” He looked up at him imploringly.

A smile crept across Grantaire’s lips. “I absolutely will be,” he said, taking the final step down to close the gap between them.

“Good,” Enjolras whispered, tentatively reaching up to Grantaire’s untamed hair, touching him for the first time that morning as he gently toyed with a curl from his streak of grey. 

_You like that, don’t you?_ Grantaire thought, feeling, for the first time in what felt like ages, desirable. He raised his hand to mirror the touch, gently brushing back a golden curl from Enjolras’s face. Then, seeing his smile reflected on Enjolras’s lips, Grantaire leaned down and kissed him.

It was light and sweet, and when he moved to pull back, Enjolras caught his chin and held him there a few seconds more, before releasing him. “Thank you for last night,” he whispered as their lips parted. 

Grantaire met Enjolras’s eyes, soft-lidded and dreamy after their kiss. “It was my pleasure, truly,” he assured him. “Happy to serve.”

“Maybe next time I can...do something for you,” Enjolras added, holding his gaze without a hint of shyness. 

Grantaire raised his brows, pausing as the words hit him. _There he is,_ he thought. _There’s that wild Enjolras wanting to come out again._ “I would like that very much,” he replied, grinning. 

Enjolras bit his lip, then took a reluctant step down. “I-I really do have to go now. But thank you again,” he said, gesturing with a wave of his phone. “You’re a lifesaver.” 

“Don’t forget you promised to keep better track of that thing,” Grantaire chided, watching as Enjolras descended to the landing below. 

“And don’t _you_ forget to feed your kitty,” Enjolras called up to him, giving him one last look.

“Don’t worry, she won’t let me forget.” Grantaire pointed down at Enjolras. “You get home safe now, and get yourself a warmer coat.”

“I will,” Enjolras nodded.

“Good.” Grantaire leaned over the railing to give him a wave. “Goodbye.”

“For now,” Enjolras replied, his smile almost mischievous as he turned and disappeared down the next flight of stairs.

“Just for now,” Grantaire echoed in agreement, cheeks aglow as he turned away and began his ascent back to his own floor. 

_Tuesday,_ he thought happily as he climbed the steps in his bare feet. _Tuesday. What shall I cook for him? I could- no, no, we’ve been inside enough. I’ll take him on a proper date, and we’ll go for...sushi. Yes! We’ll order half the menu and find out what flavors really speak to him._ He was already excited, his chef sensibilities ready to find out all about Enjolras’s palate. _And then afterwards, we can come back here, and well…it’s up to Enjolras what happens after dinner..._ Perhaps he’d find out a little bit more about Enjolras’s mouth back at his apartment, he thought with a laugh. 

He made it up the last flight of stairs, and then he was exiting the stairwell back into the familiar hallway, walking past that fateful elevator to his apartment door. If he hadn’t forgotten to buy food, if he hadn’t gone out to get groceries, if Enjolras hadn’t forgotten his phone at the Thenardiers, if they hadn’t entered the elevator at the exact same moment, if there hadn’t been a storm, if they hadn’t gotten stuck, if they hadn’t been snowed in…none of this would have happened. He certainly wouldn’t have a date lined up for Tuesday night with the most gorgeous, charming, strange, and confusing person he had ever met. Somehow it seemed that fate had pushed them together for a reason, and Grantaire was more than happy to indulge in that belief. What seemed impossible yesterday was now his new, fantastic reality.

As he opened his door, he heard an indignant squawk down by his feet. Whiskey stood on the threshold, flicking her tail in agitation, miffed that Grantaire had left right before fixing her breakfast. “Oh, now don’t be angry with me,” he tutted.“I wouldn’t leave without feeding you again, I made a promise.” He walked over to the kitchen, Whiskey weaving through his legs, and reached for the cabinet once more, taking out a can of cat food. He popped it open with a can opener, carefully scooping it into her bowl while she waited eagerly below. “And besides, I’m a chef, remember?” he asked as he lowered the bowl to the floor, placing it in front of her with a flourish. “I live to serve, my dear. It’s what I do.” He scritched her ears as she settled into her food, purring contentedly as she ate her first bites of breakfast. 

As he stood up, he glanced out the window, the sun bright on the icicles lining the building. He walked over, looking down on the street below, snow shoveled into piles lining the pavement. It was a clear and peaceful picture, a world of white blanketed over his familiar view. But one thing caught his eye, one flash of color that stood out among the snow and sidewalks: a scarlet clad figure, striding brightly up the street, there and then gone as he vanished around the corner. Grantaire smiled, his breath fogging up the window pane.

_Goodbye, for now._


End file.
